


A Pinch of Sugar

by WrittenTales



Series: Dreamwidth BBC Musketeer Fills [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Borderline crack, Gen, Some Forced Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenTales/pseuds/WrittenTales
Summary: Aramis purchases some coffee and sugar at the city square. The boys are in for a real treat.Based off a prompt from dreamwidth.





	A Pinch of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Humour prompt. Goods from a ship that sailed from Venice are being sold in Paris, and the buzz about the wares is rising, so trendy Aramis decides to buy some of the products. He gets coffee (historically coffee at the time came from the Middle East through Italy), and sugar made from sugar canes. You decide whether Aramis serves it all heated in cups, or gives coffee to some of his friends and sugar to the others.
> 
> I want hyper-activity, then sudden headache, because the musketeeers are sensitive to the new stimulants, unpredictable mood-swings (I'm happy! Now I'm sad). I just imagine over-excited Athos being confused why he's laughing openly suddenly, Aramis and d'Artagnan riding the high of the rush like puppies, and Porthos deciding that this is more uplifting than wine, plus his fencing is faster than ever.

Aramis didn’t think twice when he purchased the bag of coffee grounds and the pouch of sugar, despite the hefty price. Once the merchant found out that Aramis was adept in Arabic, not long after that did he begin to rant about his excruciatingly long journey from Arabia and the pesky Italians who wanted to reject his cargo for ill-handling because he had his items surrounded in wooden boxes which was a no-no suddenly declared by the church without his prior knowledge in order to prevent the ingestion of mold when it accumulated from the seawater because of such and such and yada yada, his attentions were drifting elsewhere.

Like the jewel-encrusted egg that was on display a few tables after this one. Now that was something!

Athos shook his head at the sight of Aramis running after Porthos with his purchases in hand, almost tripping over the rope that was used for docking the ships. Two of biggest idiots he’s ever encountered running to look at the wailing Asian woman shouting for people to buy her hand-encrusted goose eggs.

She was good at it too, because she was rallying a decent-sized crowd.

D’Artagnan walked up beside Athos, who was sitting on a docking stump, whilst eating a powdered pastry. He was certainly relishing watching Aramis and Porthos shove people out of the way in order to get a better glance. “Enjoying the fair?” d’Artagnan asks, taking another bite of his pastry.

“Treville gives us an end of the month bonus and those two are spending it all on merchants who are trying to swindle them out of their money. So in other words, not really.” Athos grunted.

“Come on Athos, live a little.” D’Artagnan teased, nudging Athos’ shoulder, which he accidentally gets powder on when a piece of bread gets stuck in his throat as a cloud of white fluff escapes from his lips. D’Artagnan, in seeing Athos’ look of un-amusement, tries to quickly rub the flour off the leather, which only makes it worse, turning the material dusty blue.

“Sorry.” D’Artagnan says meekly, giving Athos a guilty grin. To which Athos gives him the squinty eyed look with that constipated smile that you know is sarcasm for, it’s alright.

“You can’t knock it till you try it.” D’Artagnan shrugs, while glancing at other tables he didn’t visit yet. “What’s the point of making money if you can’t spend it on what you want?”

“d’Artagnan, I am significantly much older than you, I have had my fill of scam fairs over the course of my existence. I am not knocking anything because I have already tried it all. Besides, you can’t do anything because everyone is acting like children.” D’Artagnan sighs, not understanding Athos’ determination to be a grouch on their day off.

“I mean, it’s not all that bad-“

“Porthos, let’s pet the alpacas!” Aramis says out loud when the both of them have had their fill of the egg show, both full grown adult men make their way to the four strange looking horses that are roaming around in a fenced-in area on the grassy side of the fair. When Porthos and Aramis arrive, hands outstretched, one of the alpacas started to shriek, catching the attention of everyone in the fair before they all went back to what they were doing.

D’Artagnan gulps rather loud when he finds himself speechless at Athos’ scary accuracy, “Perhaps I spoke too soon.” But he doesn’t let this deter his argument, “We’re all just having some fun, taking a break from all the seriousness for a change.”

A lute started to play, filling the square with wonderful notes as the man strumming started to sing along with the notes to Arabic hymns. The musician sat on an old carpet, playing idly as some wandering people started to gather around to watch the performance, especially when a colorful gypsy woman came out with a tambourine, dancing to the soft notes.

After some more convincing, Athos agrees to watch the performance with the others and the four musketeers walk about the fair for a little while longer after that, before deciding to head back to the Garrison.

They were just sitting at the table enjoying what was left of the late morning, loafing around the empty training yard. Soon enough, Aramis has an idea when he realizes what he purchased, going to the kitchen abruptly while the others wondered why he left in such a hurry. Eventually, he comes back with a tray carrying four cups of steaming, freshly brewed coffee.

“What is that?” d’Artagnan comments, smelling the strong scent of the coffee from his seat on the stairs.

“The Arabian’s call it, coffee.” Aramis draws out, explaining with a waving demonstration of his hands, like a connoisseur.

“Oh Christ.” Porthos grunts, rolling his eyes at Aramis’ optimism. “More things you've decided we have to test out?” He scoffs.

“Well no one said you have to try anything Porthos, I’ll leave the option up to you.” Aramis dismisses, handing the cup of steaming liquid to Athos, who was closest and d’Artagnan. Porthos puffs and mutters something intelligible under his breath, before taking one of the two remaining cups.

D’Artagnan makes the huge mistake of taking a large gulp, before he starts dry heaving, drooling at the mouth because of the sheer bitterness. When he calms down, thanks to Aramis handing him some water, Porthos is still shell-shocked. “Is it even safe?”

Athos takes a milder sip, but it still causes him to grimace. “Do you have anything to dilute the taste?” He wonders, coughing as it goes roughly down his throat.

“It can’t be that bad.” Aramis tries to defend, before taking a sip as well. “Woah, that is strong.”

Porthos tentatively dips his tongue in the cup, expecting the worse. “This is…actually pretty decent.” He takes a good gulp, “Yeah, I can get used to this.”

Aramis looks at the cup figuratively, swirling it around in the tin. “You know, the man told me it would have been wise to purchase some sugar, maybe that’ll make it better?” Aramis mutters, going back the kitchen to retrieve the pouch.

“This is much better than the chocolate, in my opinion.” Porthos refers to Athos, pointing to him before taking another gulp. "Maybe even wine." Athos gives him an incredulous look.

“Porthos, this is like eating gunpowder. The chocolate was not this condense.” Athos blinks at Porthos. “How can you possibly endure this but not the chocolate?” Athos asks, genuinely confused.

Porthos shrugs, enjoying the buzz that was starting to take over his senses. Aramis is suddenly back with the sugar, he has a spoon but after a few spoonfuls, he ends up pouring it in there.

“Did the merchant tell you how much to put in it?” d’Artagnan asks, taking the sugar pouch from Aramis before he used all of it. He pours some in his own cup right after him.

“Truthfully, I was paying more attention to the egg display than him.” He says meekly which Athos scoffs at. “But I’m sure you can tell when it’s enough.” He takes a sip of the transformed coffee whilst d’Artagnan hands Athos the pouch.

Aramis shivers, after he drinks, the raw sugar hitting the back of his throat, his mouth suddenly salivating. He coughs, but it’s pleasant. He takes the spoon to mix the sugar at the bottom.

Porthos uses the last of the bag in his cup, despite enjoying the coffee in its current state. D’Artagnan’s eyes begins to flutter as he tries to hold down the shivers from the now highly sweet beverage. Athos hits his hand on the table as he tries to reel in the urge to regurgitate the sudden attack on his taste buds, his stomach clenching. Porthos lets out a huff, as if airing out his mouth from the sweetness.

The four sit in silence as they keep drinking, trying to compose themselves from the satisfying pain. All were in agreement when they got to the end of the cup, that they were all disappointed that the thrill ride was over.

“Aramis has finally done it, he’s killed all of us. We’re going to die.” D’Artagnan pants, as his stomach is adjusting to the assault.

This makes Athos, strangely, laugh out loud. And I mean, a real good laugh.

The three look at their friend in shock, yet it doesn’t dismiss that their limbs are all shaking from the ambush. Yet it’s all different, Porthos is seeing everything in fast-forward, whilst d’Artagnan feels like moving around till he’s completely exhausted himself and Aramis feels so excited he wants to kiss someone.

“That was the most comical thing I’ve heard in a long time.” Athos laughs again, it goes in bursts, sounding almost unrecognizable to his real laugh as he grips his knees to hold in his laughter. But then he feels this sudden melancholy enter his soul, causing his joy to swerve and hit a brick wall. "Wait, why am I laughing?" He brings his fingers up to hold his temple.

Porthos gets up at the sharp noise of a wooden block falling in the distance, pulling his sword out with outrageous speed. He looks at the sword in his hand for a second, swiping the air a few times for good measure to confirm his beliefs. “I’m…invincible.” He says in awe. This was waaay better than alcohol, it usually caused him to feel sluggish or confused, whereas this miracle brew made him feel more alive then he's felt in years. It was almost better then fighting...but it wasn't **that** amazing.

D’Artagnan gets up, wanting to do something he’s never done before. His thoughts going a million miles a second, “I can’t sit still.” He pants, giddying up for something like he was ready to start a brawl.

“On guard d’Artagnan!” Porthos yells, pointing his sword at d’Artagnan, who readily agrees with a pull of his own weapon.

Aramis writhing uncomfortably in his pants, opening and closing his fists as he watches a chuckling Athos in his seat. His eyes betray his laughter, as he's squinting like there's a problem, like he's out of control.

“Athos, look at me.” Aramis says to grab his attention.

“Haha, yes? Oh, my heart!” Athos begins again, manically laughing, though his little spurts of laughter have become wheezes with no sound as he slaps his knee, watching Aramis’ face. He’s clutching his chest for some relief but he can’t bring himself to stop. Yet when that melancholy breaches his high, he stops in horror. "Oh no, have I become an idiot?" Athos paused, looking at Aramis' wide, preying eyes with outright fear. "Like you?" Athos begins to laugh hysterically once again, although, at this point, it's starting to become painful. 

This all goes over Aramis’ head as he looks to Athos like a predator would his prey. He pounces, wrapping his arms around Athos before kissing his lips with a nice, sloppy smooch. The other two couldn't hear Athos' yelps for help.

As Porthos and d’Artagnan spar, Porthos feels like he’s fighting at incredible speed, yet in reality, it's just really erratic, however, he's beginning to believe he’s become something other than human. He feels like a god. He **is** a god.

“I win!” Porthos hisses, overtaking d’Artagnan. But d’Artagnan’s attention is just everywhere, as he hops from place to place to evade Porthos. Evading him so much that d’Artagnan started running around the courtyard with a few bounces in between as if he were jumping over invisible obstacles. Porthos couldn’t resist the chase and started to run after him with his sonic speed, sword in the air. When Porthos was getting close, d’Artagnan released a scream of excitement, laughing as they’ve seem to have resorted to a game of tag.

Treville walks in from the street, shuffling through a handful of papers. He looks up in alarm when d’Artagnan screams, and he’s almost stricken to permanent silence.

The sight was unfathomable, four of his best men have gone absolutely insane. As he’s thinking if he should call forward a physician, he watches as d’Artagnan and Porthos chase after each other like schoolchildren with their swords almost impaling one another and then to Aramis assaulting Athos at the table with kisses as Athos tries to breathe and laugh at the same time, with his pipes of "help me!"

No, he didn’t need a physician, they needed a priest. They were possessed!

Treville walks forward quickly, to avoid being stabbed, when he notices the fallen cups and the tray, believing they must have ingested a poison. No one acknowledges their commanding officer, and he brings the cup up to his nose for a whiff. The smell is extremely familiar.

“Coffee?” Treville says aloud. He then turns to see white specs on the table and some that have fallen on the ground. He removes his glove to get a taste. “Sugar?” He says even louder, before sighing.

Of course. The fools have ingested at least a quarter each of a pound bag of sugar. They’ve given themselves a staircase high to oblivion.

Treville felt like he should do something, but then again, his criteria was not to babysit grown men, and after a minute of contemplation, he’s come to a conclusion.

If they don’t off themselves in the next fifteen minutes to half-an-hour, then they’ll have stable and outhouse cleaning for a week upon their normal duties. That’ll teach them to find better things to do on their day off than making a mockery of his regiment. Or they’ll never have another day of relaxation for a **very** long time.

Treville takes a turn up the stairs, going back to looking through his paper. He leaves the nonsense behind him as he closes the door to his office.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe the boys will try something a little warmer in the near future...


End file.
